This Tired Old Dance
by The Purple Ghost
Summary: …and it came to her in a burst of alcohol-induced inspiration that to get his attention she would have to do something drastic. KakaSaku. AU. Dabblers coming in no particular order.
1. Letter Opener Confessions

AN: Hello all! I am back! I've decided to try my hand at writing something for what has become my favorite pairing of late. While this is by no means my first rodeo it is my first time writing for Naruto…so let me know if I'm completely off base, k? Also I need to know if this writing style is okay…I figured I would go ahead and experiment with it too. Let me know if the (interjections) are too confusing. This story is not going to be told in any kind of linear fashion, and each chapter is supposed to be short, so don't worry if it confuses you at first.

This Tired Old Dance

_Letter Opener Confessions_

_Somewhere near the end _

…and he was leaning his hip into her desk as if the last three days hadn't happened; brushing aside the mail she'd been diligently opening, with a flick of his wrist, as if he owned the place (God, she _hated_ when he did that). It could have been any other morning in the long string of mornings from their past; mornings that had always been marked by his smirk and the coffee he brought (tall, just one cream and none of those fancy syrups that hid the bitter taste, thank you) and then perching with his hip against the corner of her desk (that side was discolored and worn from the holster that hung off his belt).

He gave his traditional "Yo!" before plopping her coffee down (it sloshed onto the pristine white of the letters she'd been opening for Tsunade-sama, but for once she didn't notice) with a smile and she got a little dizzy, not from butterflies over the sight of him or anything girly like that, but from the combined smells of cigarette smoke and coffee and because of the _sameness_ of it all. He was not supposed to come in here and act as if nothing had changed between them. For a moment she was stunned, speechless, maybe even not breathing (or she might have been hyperventilating) when he leaned in to take a whiff of her perfume (he really shouldn't have bothered, she thought, because she wasn't wearing any. Hadn't bothered with it since she'd woken up alone in a cold bed three mornings ago. In fact, she couldn't even remember if she'd brushed her hair this morning.) she was suddenly so angry. Angry that after all the ground they'd gained in the last few weeks (after months, no years, of waltzing around the white elephant in the room) he was ready to go back to the same tired old dance they'd been performing since the day they had met (consistently sending signals, but never crossing that invisible _line _between friends and more). Angry that she couldn't remember if she'd brushed her hair and _this _was what rejection from _this _man had turned her into. The letter opener in her hand (he probably regretted giving that to her now) moved before she could think about it. Such was her anger that the letter opener pierced through his tie and her desk calendar; all the way to the wood where it lodged firmly in the grain.

He went really still (she was trained to kill, after all) and all the sound in the room seemed to fade from her ears as she sat there trembling with her hands clenched tightly around the handle of the opener-turned-sword-of-justice.

"Sakura?" It was the question in his tone that finally pushed her past the breaking point (no, that hadn't been when she'd stabbed his tie). She opened her mouth to tell him to just forget about it, that she was tired, but what came out was an eruption of words that she didn't know she had locked inside.

"Sakura?! Don't you dare say my name as if you have no _clue_ what my problem is! It's your job to be observant and I know for a fact that you're _damn_ good at your job! You left me! (He might have tried to interrupt her here, but she didn't let him) You didn't even bother to call and you want to know what the worst part is? That I _care_ that you didn't call!" She had to pause for breath here even though she didn't want too, because she knew Kakashi well enough to know that if she let him he'd be able to convince her to forgive him and put back on her dancing shoes (she_hated _dancing around this thing between them). But he didn't say anything, just looked at her and Sakura realized how close she'd leaned in while she'd been yelling at him (and then _hated_ herself for noticing).

"Are you finished?" He asked, and his voice was deep and rough; sounded a little like it had the last time she'd seen him and the dizzy spell was back for a totally different reason (she was a girl after all and this was the man she _loved_).

"I've been on call for the last three days and I just got back this morning." And that's when she noticed the wrinkles (God, had he _slept_ in that suit? No wonder he smelled like Asuma's cigarettes)and the dark smudges under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. Sakura didn't ask why he hadn't called (because she knew that on the types of mission he went on cell phones weren't allowed) and tried to think of something, anything, to say to him. Her eyes slipped to the letter opener that was still imbedded in his tie and the desk, and she wondered absently if he was uncomfortable, pined as he was in that position.

"I guess I owe you another tie?" It was the only thing she could think to say, because he was still standing too close, and he still smelled like coffee and because there were so many other things she wanted to say but was afraid too (_oh God_ did this meant that they would never have to dance around this _thing_ between them anymore?). She was going to pull the letter opener out of the desk (free him so that he could leave her again if he wanted) but he kissed her before she had a chance. The kiss was warm (plus a hundred other things) and full of the same attitude he used when he perched on the corner of her desk each morning (she'd probably _still_hate that attitude tomorrow, but right now she didn't care).

"So you _care_ that I didn't call, huh." He was so smug, but all she could do was smile and lean into him because _this _man might just love her and oh _god_ she loved him so much that it made her a little crazy. She pulled the letter opener out of the desk but he still didn't move away, just stood there smirking and wiggling his eyebrows like an idiot.

"Shut up and kiss me again before I stab more than just your tie."

--------

Just let me know, k?

Oh, and let me add this now:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. Prison Cell Confessions

AN: Grad school sucks ass. Just thought you should all know.

This Tired Old Dance

_Prison Cell Confessions_

_Somewhere in the very middle  
_

…and it was the constant _dripping_, Sakura realized, that could really drive a person mad. Not the (constant) darkness, or the lack of (edible) food, or the (inevitable) torture. She'd been trained to deal with all of those things years ago when she'd made the decision (unwisely) to give up medicine for a career with the biggest personal security firm in the world. And _why_ had she done that? Just what had _possessed _her? Now, laying here in the (thick, black, _suffocating_) dark, she couldn't quite remember it. Was it because she didn't want to be left behind by the two constants in her life (those boys _needed_ her to keep them from doing something _stupid. _She was the only reason they had reached adulthood after all)?

Or maybe it had been him even though it shouldn't have been. That scarred face (scars add _character_ in a man, her father always said) and those mismatched eyes smirking at her (dance puppet dance!) when she declared she wouldn't be left behind? But she didn't want to think about him either. In her mind the topic of her (non) relationship with him (her mother had warned her about older men!) was just as annoying as that damnable _dripping_ (why was everything always just at the edges of her arms length?)

Did it matter any of that matter now anyway?

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

No, none of the choices that had lead her to this _place_ (a prison cell in the middle of God knows where after a mission that had gone south so fast that it had made her head spin) mattered. What mattered was that damnable _dripping_ just out of her reach. Because she couldn't (wouldn't) think about (the slim chance of rescue, her broken arm, teammates who might not have gotten out before the engulfing flames…Kakashi…) anything else.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_DripDripDripDrip._

Surely with the money they were saving on lights around here the people who were holding her could afford to fix the leaky pipes? Surely the meager food (she couldn't see its color but it tasted like the very definition of grey) and the _smell _(death, blood, urine and the undercurrent of something even more horrible that her mind refused to name…) would be considered enough of a punishment? Surely breaking her arm when she wouldn't talk was enough? Why did they have to add the unending (unceasing, constant, _continuous_, _interminable, never-ending, __**perpetual, nonstop, endless**_) sound of water (God, let it be water…let it _just be water_) hitting the concrete somewhere out there in the gloom too?

Her stomach rumbled so loudly that she jerked (anything other than the dripping sounded alien…and she thought she might have just started a fast nosedive into insanity because there were other sounds coming from the gloom…but she'd dreamed of rescue before and she couldn't tell anymore if she was awake or asleep)

Why hadn't someone (Naruto…Sasuke…Kakashi…) come for her?

But the passage of time was different here (because the sun and stars did not hold sway in this place). Maybe no time had passed at all. After all, they always came after their own (except for when they didn't, but no one likes to talk about those left behind).

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Oh God, the dripping was starting to sound friendly now because if she focused on it she didn't have to think about...anything else (or those far away dream sounds that allowed hope to bloom and die at intervals) Didn't have to focus on what else could be done to her (there were so many things worse than death and if she thinks about it she can identify that _other_ smell).

She would never get to tell him anything now (because even when her dreams were dying she couldn't stop think about Kakashi). She would never get to tell him that she thought he was an arrogant ass (he just kept touching her as if he had some claim of ownership, but never acted on it ) or that she hated it when he came in to the office reeking of stale cigarettes (he claims that he doesn't smoke…he blames the smell of Asuma) and harsh, dark coffee that had been brewed _hours_ to long (and by hate, she really meant that she breathed in as deeply as she could when he walked by on those days because, to her, that smell was _him_ and _comforting_) or that the way he always looked at her with those lazy eyes (the _heat_ behind that laziness sometimes made her think she would be completely burned away) made her stomach clinch up into knots and Oh God…she loved him and would never get to tell him that (it was so clear to her now and she wondered how she could have never known before this moment).

It was like dancing, she realized now (she realized too that delusions were beginning to set in because that's what the sound of her cell door being kicked off its hinges had to be).

The way they were always circling around these feelings that were some times _tangibly _between them.

"Sakura!"

And she wondered how long it would take for their dancing shoes to start to pinch (she carried on the metaphor because it amused her…kept her from wondering if she was truly going insane…)

"Sakura! Damn it, someone turn on some fucking light!" and then someone was holding her (shaking her out of her stupor …it was real. it was _real._ _itwasreal_…even the sudden flair of pain in her arm was a blessing…)

And the kiss he pressed to her cracked lips felt like the desperate act of a man on the edge of a cliff clawing for any kind of handhold (under the odor of blood and tears she could detect coffee and the cigarettes that he didn't smoke) She griped his jacket and held on with everything she had (because she had been on that edge too and they were bringing each other back)

When she opened her eyes the light was blinding.

--

AN:

I took a break from writing my fifteen page seminar paper to write this. Some of Sakura's desperation is probably my own. I hope no one is too confused. The order of these chapters are consequential with this one falling a somewhere in time before the first chapter posted.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	3. Nicotine Confessions

AN: Consider this disclaimed. Also, this falls between the last two...somewhere...

This Tired Old Dance

_Nicotine Confessions_

_Somewhere at the beginning of the end_

…and it came to her (in a burst of alcohol-induced inspiration) that to get his attention she would have to do something drastic. She slammed her shot glass on to the bar (upside down, next to an even row of its brethren that she had already knocked back. She knew that she had had enough when she could no longer line them up in neat little rows) and glared again at the darkened booth where the very bane of her existence (because she _loved_ him, damn it all, and he just kept _dancing _out of her reach) was sitting (hiding) in.

She was tired (exhausted) of him constantly avoiding the _thing_ (it was like the _fucking _white elephant in the room and he was the only one unwilling to acknowledge it) between them with pretty words. (He always seemed to be reciting these pretty nothings in a voice pitched to convince himself, not her, of their truth.) Well, she was tired of dancing even if he was content (discontent but resigned) with the status quo (and she was happy that she'd only wavered a little bit when she stood up to walk his way, because that meant that this new decision to switch tactics in the middle of the war was mostly her talking and not the copious amounts of alcohol).

When she got to his hidey-hole she didn't allow herself the belief that he didn't know that she was standing there (because even thought she was drunk she wasn't stupid). But he kept his back turned (that tactic would not work today). She paused to inhale the sent of the cigarette that he had just lit up before coming close enough to lean her hip against the corner of the table. He didn't even glance up from the little orange "M" rated security blanket that he was so fond of whipping out when things got a little too personal (she not-so-secretly hated those damn books because he kept using them like a shield to keep her at bay). She didn't (refused to) let it bother her this time (because liquid courage does that to a person and she'd had enough to face down this lovely battle field) and tries her (drunken) best to smirk like she's holding all the cards (it was an effort that even Sasuke would be proud of).

"I thought you didn't smoke." He still hasn't looked up, but he hasn't flipped a single page since she waltzed her way over here and Sakura has known him long enough to understand what this means.

"I thought you didn't drink." His voice is lazy (there is steel underneath it and that veiled warning makes her shiver and the way his lips moved around that slim cigarette to form words only makes it better). He deliberately flips a page (he _fucking knows_ that _pisses_ her off) and he's smirking too now like he's won whatever game they had been silently playing (she's going to prove him _so _wrong because she's not playing by the rules anymore).

"Hmm. There are a lot of things you obviously don't know then." that makes him glance up (because she's supposed to heed the warning in his tone and go away) and she takes the opportunity to pluck the cigarette right out of his mouth. She holds it expertly between her fingers (there are echoes of cheap teenaged rebellion and long summer nights spent on the roof of Naruto's apartment in her action) and contemplates its smoldering end for a moment. When she looks up again she has his undivided attention (the orange book lays forgotten on the scared tabletop) and she revels in the power she suddenly possess.

"These things aren't good for you, Kakashi." She comment casually as she brings the thin white stick up to her lips and takes in a long pull that turns the end an orange brighter than his book and fills her lungs up with smoke ( that _taste_ just like she'd always imagined that _he_ would). She holds it inside for a moment, imagining that she is holding _him_ inside her (and it's his turn to shiver now because he can see that plainly in her _eyes and this is not supposed to be happening_) and then slowly exhales as if she wants to saver every small taste as it leaves her body.

He inhales (sharply, almost desperately, maybe even involuntarily) the secondhand breath as it exits from her slightly parted lips and she knows that she has him (or at least part of him, but she'll take what she can get at this point because even a little is better than having anymore frustrated, lonely nights).

She has to take the cig out of her mouth to talk (she was never good enough at smoking to learn how to talk around it, she's surprised even that she hadn't choked; it had been years since she'd allowed herself a drag) but before she could utter a word he had caught her wrist (firm enough to almost hurt) and maneuvered the hand holding the cigarette up to his mouth. She could feel his lips against her palm (well, two _could_ obviously play this game, even though she hadn't though that far ahead) as he took a long drag (and his eyes were _burning_ her just as the hot ash on the end of the cigarette would if he wasn't careful). And it was her turn to inhale the blue wisps that came crawling out of his mouth toward her (when had she leaned in close enough to see his one grey eye darken to near black?)

"Old habits die hard I suppose." His voice was deep and rough and brought to mind a completely different type of dancing than their normal style. He slipped the butt of the cig out from between her (suddenly numb) fingers and rubbed it out in the overflowing tray in the middle of the table. His other hand ghosted a path up the inside of the leg she had propped up beside him on the seat and she felt a little dizzy (she wondered if this was what if felt like when walls suddenly fell down) and like she was loosing the reins of this seduction. His fingers stopped way to close to (too damn far from) her center and she forgot how to breathe for a moment (but thanked every god she knew that Ino had forced her into the jean mini she was wearing)…Then he pushed her leg off the seat in one swift motion and stood up. For a moment she didn't understand what had just happened, but then she caught on (he was just _leaving? _Just like _that?_) and humiliation clogged up her throat so that she couldn't curse at his retreating back.

He was out of arms reach (just out of the range of her temper) before he stopped to look back at her with one raised brow.

"Well, are you coming?" His mouth was stretched into that same smirk that she hated to love and something new and forbidden reflected in his eyes.

"Coming?" She asked because she was still recovering from the humiliation (and hope is always the last to die and last to be revived). He walked back to her and stood close enough to tease, but not to touch. His mouth was so close to hers that she could feel the phantom brush of heat (could almost taste the smoke she knew would be there….)

"Yes, coming, or do you want to finish this… conversation… on bad habits here? Or talk about all those things that I don't know about you. I really would like for you to _enlighten_ me, Sakura."

She didn't even spare a glace to the neat little role of shot glasses as she grasped his offered hand (and the meaning of everything else he was offtering).

-

Well...:glances up at story: Nothing that I can really say other than I hope that it set the mood is was supposed to.


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